


Break

by gemjam



Series: A Few Of  My Favourite Things [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, D/s, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Polyamory, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 01:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16506197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: I need somethingStiles sends the text to Chris and then immediately places his phone down on the coffee table, as though he can physically distance himself from his own neediness.





	Break

**Author's Note:**

> For the Kinktober prompt _spanking_
> 
> Also, I am aware it is no longer October, but I'm going to keep working my way through these prompts.

_I need something_

Stiles sends the text to Chris and then immediately places his phone down on the coffee table, as though he can physically distance himself from his own neediness. He hates feeling like this. They’ve talked about it, his anxiety, the states he can work himself into. Chris and Peter have always been supportive of him. The codes were their idea, a way for him to ask when he can’t find the words. This is the first time he’s had to use one of them though. It always made him feel safe to know they were there, but using them feels different. Chris and Peter are supportive in theory. Even with the best of intentions, there’s no guarantees to how they’ll react when they see what a mess he really is.

His phone rings on the table and he jumps, staring it down. He doesn’t have words right now, that’s why he used the code. He can see Chris’ face looking at him from the caller ID screen though and he knows he has to answer it.

“Do you want me to pick you up?” Chris asks before Stiles can even muster a greeting. “I’d prefer you not to drive.”

“Yes,” Stiles says, his voice cracking. He feels wretched and Chris’ kindness just piles guilt on top of it. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever tell me you’re sorry,” Chris says firmly. “Not for something like this.”

“I just hate being like this,” Stiles says, trying to fight back the sob that wants to escape him. “And I hate inflicting it on others.”

“You’re not inflicting anything on us,” Chris insists. “We’re here for you, whatever you need. I don’t want you to feel guilty about that.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, shame threatening to drown him whichever way he looks at it.

“What was my instruction, Kit?” Chris asks, a firmness in his voice that snaps Stiles into focus. It’s the Dom voice he uses in a scene and Stiles needs it right now.

Stiles nods his head in understanding, which might be enough if they were in the same room. He swallows, forcing out the words. “No saying sorry.”

“Good boy,” Chris says warmly. “I’m setting off now, okay? I need to hang up to drive, but do you want Peter to talk to your until I get there?”

Stiles wants to cry at the care and understanding, but it’s too much just to string words together around the stress and the guilt and the humiliation. “I can’t.”

“That’s okay,” Chris says. “I’ll be there soon.”

Stiles doesn’t feel like he does anything until Chris gets there, he’s not even sure he breathes. He gets up when there’s a knock at the door, opening it up to find Chris standing there, so warm and solid. He wants to fold into him but he also wants to immediately apologise.

“Thank you,” he forces out instead.

“You’re welcome,” Chris says earnestly.

“I don’t want to fuck up your weekend,” Stiles says, the words suddenly spilling out of him. “I had a really rough day at my placement yesterday. I mean, every one of my clients is generally having an awful time, that’s why they need a social worker, but sometimes it just really gets under my skin. And then I had to come home and face this mountain of work that I have to do for college and usually I’m really good at time management but I have so many hours at my placement and sometimes…” He takes a desperate breath, the tears spilling from his eyes. “Sometimes I just need to stop.”

“Then stop,” Chris says, placing his hands firmly on Stiles’ shoulders. “I’m going to take care of you.”

Stiles nods his head, his bottom lip quivering. Chris lifts a hand, wiping his tears away.

“I’m going to take you home,” Chris says. “And then I’m going to give you what you need.”

Stiles just nods again, grateful when Chris takes hold of his hand, grateful that it’s not a hug. Sometimes it felt awkward, the amount of time they spent talking through all the variables, all the possibilities that came with their dynamic, Stiles being the most complicated part of the puzzle because he feels so flighty compared to their set in stone total power exchange dynamic. He’s glad for it now though because that means that Chris knows that he can’t handle being held right now, that he’ll fall apart and it can take days to put him back together.

What he needs isn’t comfort and consoling, not yet. He needs firmness, something to calm him, tame him, quiet the thoughts that are so easily overwhelming. That’s when he can gain some perspective. He trusts Chris with that.

Chris takes care of everything, makes sure he has his phone and his keys and puts on a sweater. He locks his door for him and leads him down to his truck, watching for him to fasten his seatbelt before he turns his key in the ignition. There’s no music like there usually is, not even a burst when the engine starts up, so Chris must have thought to turn it off before he came up to collect Stiles. Stiles wants to cry again at being so utterly understood. Instead, he sinks into his seat and lets himself go to that place in his head, that submissive place, but it’s not warm like it usually is with his current headspace. Being vulnerable doesn’t feel comfortable yet, but he knows that it will.

When they get to the house, Chris opens his car door for him, guiding him with a hand resting against the small of his back. It warms him all the way through. Peter stands up from the couch to greet them as they come through to the living room, a manuscript in his hands.

“Hey, you,” he says with a smile. He holds up the pages. “Talia actually sent me something good for once so I’m going to take this through to the study and get lost in it for a little while.”

He steps up close to Stiles, leaning in to nuzzle at his neck for a moment before placing a kiss on his cheek. Stiles whines. He doesn’t want Peter to have to go away. He doesn’t want to throw him off his own couch. He feels so hideously selfish.

“I know,” Peter whispers against him. “It’s alright. Chris is going to take such good care of you.”

The words make a little shiver of anticipation go through Stiles. Peter pulls back, smiling knowingly at him before giving him a nod.

“I’ll come hang out with you guys later.”

“Please,” Stiles croaks out.

Peter places another kiss on his cheek and then exchanges a kiss with Chris before he leaves the room. Chris reaches down, grabbing the hem of Stiles’ sweatshirt and tugging it upwards. Stiles lifts his arms, allowing Chris to remove it before placing his hand against the small of Stiles’ back again, warmer through just the material of his T-shirt. He guides them over to the couch, sitting down and then tugging Stiles to him by his hips. He unfastens his jeans, pulling them down along with his underwear so that they bunch around his ankles, his sneakers still in place.

In one smooth movement, he has Stiles across his knee, his top half balanced on the couch, legs dangling so that he can’t get purchase. He still wiggles, Chris’ jeans rough against his naked cock. Chris places an arm across his lower back, gripping his hip firmly to keep him still. Stiles can already feel himself slipping away. Chris’ other hand strokes over his bare ass, caressing for so long that Stiles is lulled into a false sense of security before the first slap makes him give a surprised little yelp. Chris doesn’t lift his hand right away, letting the heat build under his palm, and then he does it again.

It builds slowly in intensity, each blow coming a little sharper than the last, the time between ebbing away to seemingly nothing. Stiles tenses each time Chris’ hand connects with his skin at first, the sound of slapping flesh ringing out around them, but as the sensations blend together, the sting of each hit is dulled by the constant burning of his flesh until it’s all just one long, glorious, drawn out sensation and he knows the endorphins have hit.

Stiles goes limp over Chris’ lap, letting go of everything, his body and his mind and all of that stress and tension. There’s nothing so freeing as the moment of surrender. He moans, Chris keeping up a steady pace, holding him right in that sweet spot. He feels like he’s floating, all of his burdens gone, the stress and the guilt and the inhibitions. It’s all melted into this wonderful heat that wraps around him, full of love.

His cock is hard, trapped between his body and Chris’ rough jeans, but he doesn’t try to shift, doesn’t try to do anything about it. He’s not sure he could between his position and the hold Chris has on him and the way his body feels like lead. That’s not what this is about anyway. It barely registers beyond _yes good_. Just another way for Chris to make his body sing.

He loses all awareness of his surroundings, of the passing of time, of anything outside of his fuzzy head and his throbbing ass. It’s only when he feels Chris’ hand stroking over the painfully sensitive flesh that he realises he’s not being spanked anymore. He doesn’t even know when it stopped. They reached some kind of peak of euphoria and it’s still rolling through his body, even with the stimulus taken away. He sniffs, noticing the dampness on his cheeks. He doesn’t remember crying but there’s a lightness in his chest for having gotten all of his frustrations out, even if he didn’t feel it happening.

His sneakers are pulled off, followed by his jeans and underwear and then his socks. It takes him far too long to realise that Chris is still holding him in his lap, so Peter must have come back into the room at some point. He lifts his head, still feeling out of it but wanting to see him. He’s certain Peter understands exactly what he’s feeling right now.

Peter smiles at him, so warm and full of affection. “I thought you might appreciate some comfy PJs,” he says, holding up a pair of pants that Stiles knows are his own.

Stiles nods, starting to move, Chris helping him right himself slowly, carefully, somehow easing him through it so that he doesn’t get a headrush. Peter pulls the pants on for him, Chris helping him balance, and once they’re settled in place, Stiles holds out his arms, sinking down to Peter who’s knelt on the floor.

Peter holds him, but Stiles doesn’t miss the grimace that crosses his face. “Yeah, I don’t really do lap sitting,” he says.

“Not unless he’s in somebody else’s lap. If he’s not the one being petted and spoiled, he wants no part of it,” Chris says, leaning forward to kiss Stiles’ hair.

“Accurate,” Peter agrees. “I do couch snuggles though. Can I interest you in one of those?”

Stiles nods his head. He doesn’t have his words back yet, doesn’t want his thoughts to be coherent enough to string them together, but he gives Peter a smile and he puts all of his love and gratitude behind it.

He lets Chris and Peter help him onto the couch, laid out half on top of Peter. There’s a searing pain in his ass and the tops of his thighs where Chris worked him over but he’s still at the point where it feels amazing and he doesn’t want to do anything about it. He just wants to let it seep into his bones.

“I even brought you my blanket,” Peter says quietly as Chris helps to lay it over them.

Stiles knows that Peter’s blanket is a big deal. It’s his subspace blanket, soft and warm and indulgent. It makes him feel safe, stops him coming down, and he wants to give that to Stiles now. Just Peter’s arms around him are enough to do that, but Stiles snuggles into the blanket, the sentiment feeling like the greatest declaration of love.

“I got you some juice,” Chris says, holding out a glass of orange juice, a straw stuck in it. “Take some sips for me.”

Peter takes the glass on his behalf, holding the straw up to Stiles’ mouth so he can drink some. It’s cool and sweet, settling pleasantly in his belly. He hums happily taking another drink before resting his head down. Peter reaches over, placing it on the coffee table. Chris crouches down beside them, fingers stroking through Stiles’ hair, making a shudder go through him. He places a kiss against his temple.

“You’re such a good boy, Kit,” he says. “You should take a nap. I’m going to make some food. I bet you haven’t had a decent meal since the last time you were here.”

Stiles’ lips turn up in the tiniest smile, even as his eyes fall closed. He’s not wrong. Peter lifts his hand, taking over from Chris to pet Stiles’ hair. Stiles melts into him with a pleased noise, his entire body alight but so content.

“I told you he’d take care of you,” Peter says, his voice low and intimate. “We’re so glad that you’re ours.”

Stiles feels a surge of warmth go through him, tears pricking at his eyes again. He snuggles further into Peter, fingers tangled in the blanket.

“After we eat, you should ask Chris to give you a nice, long, deep fuck,” Peter says.

Stiles moans, his hips instinctively pushing forward, half-hard cock pressing against Peter’s thigh.

“I think that would do you the world of good,” Peter says, fingers still playing through his hair. “Think about his hips slapping against that sore ass. That’s going to feel amazing.”

Stiles wriggles against him, groaning into his neck before mouthing over it.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. “You sleep for now though.” He tightens his arm around Stiles waist, slipping a hand under his T-shirt to stroke his side. “We got you.”

Stiles smiles contentedly, feeling so light and free. His anxiety likes to tell him that he’s a burden, that he’s barely tolerated, but right now all he feels is loved and accepted. He lets everything else slip away, all of the responsibilities that are waiting for him. Sometimes it’s okay to stop. This is the place he always wants to stop. And he’s theirs. Nothing has ever felt as good as that.


End file.
